Twenty dollars and I’ll tell you what.
“Thanks.” I grab Scout’s arm, and we head out of the shop, running first left then right along the sidewalk until we see the entrance to an apartment overhead.
“Hurry,” I hiss, as we press all four of the buzzer buttons until one of them goes off, releasing the front door.
Falling inside, we catch our breaths. Scout grips my upper arms. “You stay here. I don’t know what might happen when we go in there.”
“No way.” My eyes flash. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”
I know what Scout plans to do, and I want to be able to bash Clyde Shaw over the head should things go wrong.
“If anything happened to you, JR would kill me.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Or you.”
We find the apartment number and charge up the stairs. I’m right behind him when we get to the landing, and he bangs on the door.
We back up to wait, and my heart is beating so fast, I’m not sure I can breathe. I want to hold out my hand and say wait a minute, but it’s too late.
The door jerks open, and everything stops. A guy dressed in jeans and a beige oxford shirt stands in the doorway. He has a light brown afro and short beard, and he looks like Bob Ross. I half expect him to smile and say it was all a happy accident.
Instead he blinks several times then does break into a smile. I’m completely confused until he speaks.
“Oh my God.” He takes a step back, putting his hand on his chest, seeming star struck. “Are you… Are you… Rod?”
My hand flies to my mask to cover my laugh. I pass it off as a sneeze.
Scout’s entire demeanor changes as he stands beside me. The fight disappears, and he grins. “Sorry, I’ll just put this on…”
He lowers his chin and shakes his hair as he loops the mask over his ears, giving Clyde a little wink. “I see you’ve heard of me.”
“Yes.” Clyde looks like he might faint. “I mean, I’ve seen of you.”
He starts to laugh like a hyena, and my nose wrinkles. Ew.
Scout doesn’t react. He waits, putting a hand on his hip. A few seconds tick past, and suddenly Clyde seems to snap out of it.
“Would you like to come in? I don’t know to what I owe the pleasure…”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Shaw.” Scout casually swaggers into the apartment. “Or can I call you Clyde?”
“By all means, call me Clyde.”
I close the door and stand back, unsure what’s about to happen.
“My assistant and I are here because I’m in need of supplements… if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. I can get you anything you need—Acapulco Gold, Blue Dream…” He goes to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. “Do you need to be calm or energized?”
Scout gives me a glance, slipping his hand into his pocket. I know he’s turning on his voice recorder, and I dig around in my bag for my phone. Clyde is completely ignoring me, and I plan to make the most of it.
“No, Clyde. I need something for my physique.”
Clyde turns to him and pops an eyebrow. “Last I checked, your physique’s doing just fine, Rod.” He chuckles, and I force my face to remain neutral.
Scout walks to the guy, getting just close enough to make me squirmy. “I want to bulk up. I heard you’re the guy to help me.”
“I’m glad to help you… Did you have something particular in mind?”
“HGH. Growth hormone.”
Scout’s gaze levels, but Clyde’s chin pulls back.
He seems to lose all his swoon, and instantly he’s on alert. “Who told you that?”
My heart beats faster, and I’m not sure what to do.
Scout grins, holding out a hand. “Hey, now. Take it easy. Who told me isn’t as important as can you get it?”
He’s quiet, looking from me to Scout. I’m convinced it’s over. We’re going to have to return to Plan A, beating it out of him, and I have no idea if that means we’ll end up in jail or on the news… More like TMZ, Rammin’ Rod Attacks Bob Ross.
“I just like to be careful.” Clyde’s shoulders relax. “I don’t have that on hand.”
“My bad. I was told you could get it for me… You know a guy named Ritchie? Ritchie Deemers out of Charleston?”
Again, Clyde tenses up, and I might have to step into the hall so I don’t blow our cover. My heart is in my throat.
“Deemers?” Clyde’s brow lowers. “It’s been a while. Funny you’re the second guy this week to mention him.”
“What are the chances of that?” Scout laughs, shaking his head. “There’s just no accounting for this year, is there?”
“No, there isn’t.” Clyde isn’t smiling, he’s studying us, and I could never be an actress. I’m totally panicking.
“Just between us…” Scout walks to the bar so casually, like it’s all business as usual and our cover isn’t teetering on the brink of being blown. “I’m working on a screenplay, sort of a second career type of thing, and I wanted to do something similar to The Mule—you know, that Clint Eastwood film? I thought maybe you could be my consultant. Have you ever been to LA?”
That changes Clyde’s tone. “A Hollywood movie?”
“Yeah, Bigelow has indicated interest. Shia LaBeouf is attached. Maybe he’d play you…”
“I thought he was out of the game.”
“Nobody’s ever out of the game, my friend. Deemers said you’d used a mule before. How does that work?”
Clyde only hesitates a moment. “One of two ways. Either we can add additional packets to a regular order or in the case of Deemer’s, his entire order was HGH.”
“That so?” Scout makes a face like he’s taking mental notes. “And it worked?”
“It would’ve. The asshole got caught.”
I’m definitely going to have to step into the hall. I’m ready to beat him for saying that, and I don’t even care if we get a confession.
Scout watches me, and fury must be shooting from my eyeballs like lightning bolts. He comes to me and puts a hand on my forearm. I glance up at him, and his expression says calm down.
He waits a beat, then asks, “What was the mule’s name?”
“What difference does it make? He’s in jail.” Clyde laughs. “Actually, he got out and came here threatening me. One call, and I had him back behind bars.”
I’m about to scream at him, but Scout’s grip on my arm tightens. I try to jerk it away. I’m ready to jump on Clyde’s back and start hitting him over the head with my shoe. Then maybe I’ll cram it in his smug, smiling mouth.
“I’m just curious.” Scout’s voice is as tight as his grip. “Maybe I could interview him. Get his side of the story, add a little heartbreak.”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel comfortable—”
“You said he’s behind bars.” Scout is facing me, and his eyes close. “If you’re going to be my consultant, you have to trust me.”
I’m holding my breath. Could Clyde be that stupid? Could his lust for fame cause him to confess? I start to pray, Be that stupid… Be that stupid…